Ill Fated
by Annonie
Summary: Completed! A sudden illness erupts in Clark's system. Now the Kents fight to discover the cause of it and how to heal their alien son. Set early in Season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**Pairing:** Clana (I guess)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** TC  
**Spoilers:** No major ones, set at the beginning of Season 5

Home sweet home. Every Friday brought student's their own personal freedom. This was especially true for Clark Kent, since he didn't have any classes on Monday. Three whole days. Every week he worked up for this point: when he could walk through the doorway, knowing he wouldn't have to leave again until Tuesday. Even though he commuted everyday, walking through the door on a Friday afternoon still brought a strange sense of glory.

It had only been two weeks since Clark's resurrection, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet, he discovered even with his powers back, he could still enjoy life's simple pleasures of basking in the Indian summer's sun and procrastinating until the last hour to complete the work for the weekend.

Tossing his book bag on the floor, Clark made his way to the kitchen, ready to feed his insatiable appetite. He quickly created a simple, but large, turkey sandwich, figuring it would be perfect to hold him off until dinner. Stuffing a huge piece in his mouth, it finally occurred to the young man that he was alone. Furrowing his brow, he tried to think of his parents' schedules. His mom was at the produce store, and his dad was at in the barn, probably finishing up the never-ending list of daily chores. The silence on the ever noisy farm was deafening to the teenage boy.

Looking down at his half-eaten sandwich, Clark felt like he couldn't eat another bite. He threw the rest in the refrigerator, not once realizing he's never left a meal uneaten. Clark walked out the door, ready to help his dad, oblivious to the virus slowly attacking in his body.

- - -

**Chapter 1:**

The fall sun seemed abnormally grueling to the young Clark Kent that particular afternoon. Usually his thick skin barely felt the sun, but today, as he fixed the fence with this father, Clark couldn't stop from constantly wiping his damp brow. He glanced towards the descending sun and sighed as a dusk breeze graced his face. Grabbing another plank to nail into place, Clark steadied himself before pushing the nail into the wood with his thumb. At first there was a bit of resistance, but after tensing his muscle, the nail slid through like a hot knife in butter.

Running a hand through his damp, sandy hair, Jonathan leaned against the repaired fence. "Well, that's it. Mission accomplished," he stated as he wearily tossed his hammer in his toolbox. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner." Glad he could finally rest peacefully without a chore taunting his mind, he proudly slapped his son on his shoulder and headed toward the house.

Collapsing against the fence, Clark sighed, "Coming." He couldn't remember the last time he looked forward to the simple pleasure of sitting down. To tired to think, he grabbed the red toolbox and followed his father to their personal paradise.

As Jonathan made his way toward his wife and a warm meal, he couldn't help but notice the sluggish pace of his son. Glancing behind him, he uneasily asked, "Son, you feelin' okay?"

Clark grabbed onto the fence as if it was a railing as he walked. "Yeah, just tired," he muttered.

Jonathan immediately stopped in his tracks. He couldn't remember a time when Clark sounded so exhausted since Jor-El gave his powers back. Facing his son, the father worriedly advised, "Clark, are you sure?" Jonathan knew how Clark would always put people's lives before his, even if his own life was at risk. He still remembered Clark's first illness. His son recklessly waved the loss of his powers off as a coincidence. Jonathan had no idea how seriously ill Clark was until he passed out on the porch. Jonathan would do anything in his power to make sure that didn't happen a second time.

Wearily glancing up at his father, Clark assured, "Yeah, Dad. Stop worrying about it."

"Okay," he said passively as he turned back around.

Clark hated that tone of voice. It made him feel like an idiot. Clark knew his father didn't believe him, despite his words, yet there was nothing he could do to show the man that he was right. Irritably sighing, he continued his way toward the house.

With a swing of the front door, a fresh of aroma of cooking ham hit Clark's nostrils. Yet, it wasn't pleasant, like it usually was. Instead, it left an upset gurgling in his stomach. Clark subtly placed his hand over his stomach as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Hey there, honey," his mother sweetly greeted as she set the table. "How was school today?"

"Good," Clark instinctively answered. Every single day his mother asked the question, and everyday he gave the same answer. It seemed odd, yet somehow it became like a bland ritual in his house. But, from what he had heard, every family had the same tradition.

Placing the salt and pepper on the table, Martha robotically replied, "That's good."

"Dinner smell great," the father complimented as he rounded the table, completing the Norman Rockwell scene of family unity.

Jonathan and Martha took their spot at the table and started scooping food onto their plates. Noticing one set of hands was missing from grabbing the delectable mashed potatoes, Martha glanced up at her son. "Honey, aren't you eating," she curiously asked, wondering why he hadn't moved from behind the counter.

"Uh..." Clark stammered, as he stared at the large feast laid out before him. As if sensing his thoughts, his stomach instantaneously gurgled. Glancing away from the unappealing ham, he answered, "No, that's okay." As soon as the words left his mouth, Clark caught a glance of his father's worried expression. "I had a huge turkey sandwich when I got home." Becoming tense, Clark fidgeted under his father's skeptical stare. "I'm gonna go...read," he stuttered as he darted upstairs.

Later that night, after watching the nightly news, Jonathan and Martha Kent made their way up to bed. "Clark sure was quiet tonight," Martha commented as she climbed the stairs.

"He's been acting weird all day," Jonathan added, wondering if another strange power or predicament would soon emerge from his son. Many parents would say he was overreacting, but all that he knew was that whenever his son acted strange, the unthinkable happened.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Martha said, secretly praying for once she was right. Leaning against her husband, she peered into her son's room. Curled up in his blanket, Clark was out like a light, a soft snore drifting through the air. "See?" Martha whispered, as she slowly closed the door. The two silently left their son to rejoice in their own peacefully slumber.

Marking a new day, the golden sun gradually rose over the Kansas plains, magnificently highlighting the countryside with a rich shade of gold. Already finished with her daily crossword and most of the laundry, Martha started making lunch for her hard working men. Awoken a couple hours earlier by the truck leaving, Martha could only assume they would be back from the store any minute now. When she opened the refrigerator to grab the lunchmeat, she brought her head back with surprise at the half-eaten turkey sandwich looking back at her. It was unlike her boys to leave anything unfinished in her house. Shrugging it off, she continued to make leftover ham sandwiches.

Arriving right on time, Martha heard the truck pull up in the driveway just as she finished the second sandwich. She turned around to greet her boys, but to her surprise only one walked through the door. "Jonathan..." she questioned her brow furrowing. "Where's Clark?"

Hanging up his jacket, he casually answered, "I left without him." It was strange for his wife to not know was happening. "Isn't he awake yet?" Jonathan asked incredulously as he turned towards Martha. "It's past eleven o'clock. That's unlike him."

"I'll go wake him up," Martha volunteered, not believing, even with the foreign background, her son had the same sleeping habits as the next teenager. Jogging up the stairs, the mother quickly entered the room, smiling at the sight of her only son still sound asleep with the blanket wrapped tightly around him. "Clark, wake up," she stated, a bit louder than usual. A soft groan erupted through the air. Kneeling down next to his bed, Martha tapped the immobile teenager on the shoulder. "C'mon, Clark, wake up. The day's half over."

"Okay...okay..." Clark muttered groggily, his voice hoarse.

At the sound of his voice, Martha rose to her feet. "If you're not downstairs in five minutes, I'm sending your father up to get you," she warned as she walked out the door.

Listening to his mom jog down the steps, Clark rolled over on his stomach and pushed himself off of his bed. Suspended in a pushup, his muscles ached and he instantly fell back into the soft mattress. Clark slowly opened his eyes, and peered at the clock, wondering what insane hour his mom woke up him this time. To his surprise, in bright red numbers 11:12 glared back at him. "What?" Clark meant to exclaim, yet his sore throat wouldn't allow it. He instantly jumped out of bed and grabbed onto the wall for support. Making his way out of his room, he couldn't help but wonder why it felt like he hadn't slept a wink.

**To Be Continued...**

**Author's Note: **This is just a quick little story I've been meaning to write. It'll probably be only 5,000 words long, but it will play out like an actual episode.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Clumsily rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Clark groggily stumbled into the kitchen. "Good morning," he yawned as he sank into a chair.

"You mean good afternoon," Jonathan corrected, swallowing a bite of his ham sandwich. Martha placed a large glass of orange juice in front of her son, which he drank feverishly, trying to relieve his dry, sore throat. Clark took one look at his own left-over ham sandwich and any thoughts about eating were instantly repelled. Unable to stand the smell of the salty meat, he hastily pushed the plate away from his sight. Jonathan curiously watched his son's behavior in silence. It wasn't until Clark slightly shivered despite the Indian summer's heat that the farmer decided to speak up. "Clark, you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," the boy instinctively answered, as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. Slightly hanging his head, his mass amounts of thick, dark hair fell, covering most of his face.

"Clark, look up," Jonathan instructed, knowing better than to trust his son about his health. Agitatedly sighing, Clark raised his head and cocked it to the side. He was quickly growing tired of his father's 'know-it-all' attitude. He wasn't sick, because he couldn't get sick. It was as simple as that. Yet, when his father looked at him with a worried expression and said, "Martha, come over here," Clark couldn't help but to second-guess his own genetics.

"What is it?" the mother questioned as she rounded the table. Martha had no idea what her husband was so worried about until her eyes fell on Clark's face. His complexion was pale, and there were dark circles surrounding his eyes as if he hadn't slept in days. Yet, the most disturbing feature were his red, puffy eyelids that gave the illusion that he had been crying for hours. "Oh, honey," she whispered as she placed hand over her mouth in surprise.

Completely oblivious to how terrible he looked, Clark anxiously raised his eyebrows, wondering what all the commotion was about. His mother quickly made her way towards him and gently placed her hands on his flushed cheeks. Her eyes only widened more as she placed her palm against his forehead. "Jonathan, he has a fever."

"No, I don't," Clark stubbornly replied as he moved his face away from his mother's hands.

A plan already formulating in his mind, Jonathan stated, "There must have been meteor rock somewhere by that fence."

Hearing enough of his father's assumptions, Clark stood up. "No there wasn't Dad. Kryptonite feels a lot worse than this." He couldn't believe how worried his parents had become just because he was a little tired. Granted, his muscles ached a bit, but that could easily be because of the hard labor yesterday. He received his powers a couple short weeks ago, it could take a while for him to get used to them again. That made a lot more sense than a hidden source of Kryptonite that suddenly appeared out of nowhere on the farm.

"There could be a couple tiny particles left over from the last meteor shower," Jonathan hurriedly explained. If Kryptonite was involved they had to get rid of it quick, before Clark gradually became worse.

"Or I could just be getting used to my powers again," Clark angrily declared as he slammed his fist against the table, luckily not hard enough to break it.

Becoming increasingly frustrated with his son's denial, Jonathan ran a hand through his short hair. "Clark, you have a fever, there's something more behind this."

"I don't have a fever!" Clark meant to yell, but his hoarse throat wouldn't allow it.

Martha placed a calm hand on top of his. Gaining his attention, Clark looked down at his mother. "Yes, you do, honey," she softly stated, never breaking eye contact.

His adrenaline spent, Clark sank back down in the chair. He couldn't be sick. It wasn't possible. The boy shakily placed his head against his hands, wondering what was happening to his body. All he wanted was a normal life, a normal day even. Just for one weekend, all he wanted to worry about was the farm and his friends. Yet, fate deemed that unfeasible.

Setting his plan back in motion, Jonathan instructed, "Martha, go outside by the fence, and see if you can find anything." His wife only nodded as she made her way towards the door. She stopped for a second to look back at her son before walking outside; certain he was in safe hands. Jonathan slowly walked towards his son, unsure of what the day had in store for them. "Clark," he said as he placed a strong hand against the boy's shoulder. Not waiting for a response, he continued, "Why don't you go upstairs and take a shower. If I'm right, any meteor rock particle should fall off of you and go down the drain."

Clark looked up at his father with large, nervous eyes. "What if you're wrong?" he breathed.

The question sent a chill down the father's spine. He hadn't thought about that. Only one thing could make Clark sick, yet Clark wasn't nauseated like he usually was around the damned rocks. Keeping his composure, Jonathan knelt in front of his son and whispered, "Then, we'll figure something else out."

Regaining his confidence, Clark nodded and made his way upstairs. About halfway up the steps, he grabbed the rail, his sore muscles screaming for help. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the second level and entered the bathroom.

The hot shower was rather soothing to Clark. The warm water cascaded over his tired muscles, relaxing them momentarily from the strain of standing. Clark couldn't remember a time where he washed himself so vehemently. By the third lather, his skin was becoming red and irritated from the constant rubbing, but it was a small price to pay for his health. By the time he moved onto his hair, his biceps were screaming in pain from the constant movement. He could barely see anymore from the steam that was filling the small bathroom, yet it seemed to reduce the severity of the bright light that hurt his eyes.

As he reached for the conditioner, Clark found it hard to see through the rising steam. He narrowed his eyes, trying to locate the creamy white bottle. As he reached outward, all the colors of the shower stall seemed to blend together in some type of melted portrait. Blinking fervently, Clark placed his hand against the slippery, wet wall. As if deciding to join in on the boy's torment, the water no longer felt relaxing but hot and suffocating. Unable to take the sudden onslaught of torture, Clark stumbled out of the stall and grasped the wall for support. Yet the steam that blended the bright colors of the bathroom held no relief. Becoming disorientated and confused, Clark placed a hand on his aching head. Unable to focus anymore, he grabbed the towel rack as he fell forward, ripping the bar out of the wall.

Jonathan was startled out of the menial work of tightening the valves under the sink by a loud thud coming from upstairs. "Clark!" he called. Still hearing the shower running, the father was sure it was impossible to hear him upstairs over the water. Yet, there was a sinking feeling in his gut that something horrible had happened. Listening to his instinct, he jogged up the stairs and knocked on the wooden door. "Clark!" he called as he pressed his ear up against the door. "Clark, can you hear me!" Becoming increasingly worried, he shouted, "Clark, I'm coming in!"

Not waiting another second, Jonathan opened the door and was slammed with an onslaught of steam. "Clark?" he said as his eyes searched through the foggy room. He felt his heart leapt out of his chest at the sight of his only son unconscious on the floor. "Clark!" he shouted as he sunk to his knees. Gently placing his son's face in his lap, Jonathan lightly patted the boy's flushed cheeks. "Clark, can you hear me?"

Clark could hear his father's voice, yet he couldn't understand the words. It seemed as if his father was a million miles away. Trying to call out to his dad, he softly moaned, his mouth unable to form the words his heart was shouting. He wanted to tell his father that he was okay, and that he shouldn't worry, but his body wouldn't respond. He tried to push through the fog in his brain, but something was restraining him.

Terrified for his son's life, Jonathan placed his hand on Clark's forehead. "Dear God," he whispered as he felt the intense heat radiating off of it.

**To Be Continued...**

**AN: **Thank you for all the AWESOME reviews everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Jonathan!" Martha called as she entered the house. She'd just spent the past half an hour searching the field for any trance of a meteor rock, yet came up with nothing. She still couldn't decide if it made her relieved or even more stressed that the elusive green rock wasn't involved in whatever was sickening Clark. At least if it was the rock they knew what they were up against, yet now they were fighting a new enemy completely unknown to them. "There was nothing out-" She never had a chance to finish her sentence.

"Martha! Get up here!" Jonathan screamed from upstairs, the panic in his voice evident.

Martha could practically feel her heart drop to her stomach. She'd never heard her husband sound more terrified in his entire life. Darting up the stairs two at a time, she called, "Jonathan? What's wrong!" She couldn't seem to get up the stairs fast enough, yet once she reached the bathroom doorway time stood still.

Her son, her baby, lied on the bathroom floor, as if all of his life had been sucked away from him, leaving only a hollow shell of what he once was. Against the off-white tiles it was evident how pale his body had become, exaggerating the dark circles that surrounded his closed eyes. No longer having the energy to stand, she fell to her knees and reached out towards her son, praying it was all a cruel dream.

"Clark! Wake up, please open your eyes..." Jonathan begged for the millionth time. He had no idea how long he was kneeling in front of his unconscious son, yet as every grueling second ticked away it seemed like a hour to the distressed man. The father placed his hand on Clark's face, rubbing his closed eye with his thumb. He gravely hung his head. "Please," Jonathan muttered as a last desperate plea.

"...Dad...?" a faint voice echoed throughout the small room.

"Clark!" Martha exclaimed as she smothered his face with kisses.

"What happened?" the boy mumbled, trying to look around his mother's face toward his dad. At his words, Martha immediately picked up her head, ready to hear Jonathan's explanation.

Running a hand through his hair, Jonathan started unevenly, "I don't know. When I got upstairs, you were unconscious." He looked away from his son's wide, frightened eyes. Whatever was happening to him it was clear now that it didn't involve kryptonite, and the thought of that terrified the family. "I've been trying to wake you up for the past..." Jonathan paused for a second to check his watch. "...3 minutes?" he muttered, raising his voice in question. That couldn't be right. It seem like at least an hour to the father.

"C'mon, Clark, let's get you to bed," Martha instructed softly, rubbing a hand on his shoulder.

Eyeing is parents, Clark started, "But what ab-"

Martha only wanted what was best for her son, yet this wasn't a common cold, and Clark wasn't the average child. She had to help the only way she knew how. "We'll worry about that once we get you in some clothes and in your bed," Martha stated calmly, yet the look on her face told Clark not to fight back.

It instantly occurred to Clark that he was sitting on the bathroom floor with only a towel covering him. "O...okay," he muttered, some color rising to his pale cheeks.

Clark was quickly clothed in his pajamas and tucked into bed. The whole time, Martha tried her hardest to seem calm and collected for her child, yet once she left his room the gates holding back her emotions finally broke. Eyeing her husband, who was still in the bathroom, she jogged across the hallway. "Jonathan, what are you doing just standing here? W-We have to do...something!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with concern.

"Look at this, Martha," Jonathan instructed as he gave her the towel rack Clark torn out of the wall.

Eyeing her husband skeptically, Martha grabbed the metal bar, wondering what was so important that it distracted Jonathan from their ill child. As she turned it around with her hand, she noticed one area of it was drastically concave from the rest. Looking at it closer, she could tell that it appeared like a hand crushed it. Gasping, she instantly realized what had Jonathan so dumbfound. "He still has his powers," she muttered behind her hand as she looked up at her husband with frightened eyes.

"Exactly," Jonathan sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. "It doesn't make sense. Shouldn't his system fight off any illness. Why is he so weak if he still has his superpowers?"

Martha bit her lip for a second. "Did he lose them when...?" She knew she didn't have to finish the sentence. He knew she was talking about the time almost three years ago when she and Clark became deathly sick from a toxin in the storm cellar. She noticed when she was released from the hospital Jonathan hated talking about it, and she knew why. She couldn't imagine the thought of loosing both her child and the person she loved to an illness. Just the thought of it terrified the both of them.

"Yeah, they were gone before we even knew he was sick," he answered with a distant look on his face.

"Oh," Martha whispered. A long second passed between the two fear-stricken parents. Unable to take the silence anymore, Martha whispered, "I'm gonna..." She swallowed, trying to contain her emotions. "I'm gonna go check on Clark." As she walked down the hallway, she could hear Jonathan place the metal rod on the ground and start to follow her. Placing her hand on the door for a second, she cautiously entered her son's room, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping. Even in the dark, the change in Clark was apparent. His pale cheeks blended in with his pillow, while his damp, dark hair was sprawled messily around his face. As Martha stepped closer, his eyes were slightly open, yet they appeared glassy and unfocused. "Clark?" she whispered as she placed a soft hand on his head. The heat under his skin was so intense it surprised the mother for a second, yet she never showed her fear to her son.

"Super-hearing still works," was Clark's only reply as he rolled his head away from his mother's hand.

Martha instantly whipped her head towards Jonathan, who was standing at the foot of Clark's bed. He must have heard their conversation. "I'm sorry, baby," Martha whispered, her voice slightly quivering, as she brushed a couple strands of hair out of his face.

Clark slightly sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Just...please...tell me what's going on," he whispered, never looking at either parents.

Jonathan slowly approached the other side of Clark's bed. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the hardest thing he ever had to tell his son. "We honestly don't know." Assuming as much, Clark lazily closed his eyes and nodded. "How do you feel, son?" Jonathan asked, kneeling down in front of Clark's face.

"Tired and cold," Clark breathed as he brought his blankets closer to himself.

Out of nowhere, the sharp ring of the phone filled the air. For a moment the two parents looked at each other. "I got it," Martha volunteered, already heading towards the door. Almost relieved to think about something else, even if it was only for a second, she jogged down the stairs and grabbed the cordless phone off the table. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Kent. Is Clark there?" a scratchy voice on the other end greeted.

"Lana, is that you?" Martha questioned, barely recognizing the voice.

There was a moment of hesitation. "Yeah," the Lana answered, sounding embarrassed. "Um...Can I talk to Clark?"

Biting her lip, Martha looked up stairs for a second, before deciding against it. Even though Lana was sure to make her son feel slightly better, Martha still wanted the conversation to be as short as possible. "No, I'm sorry. Can I take a message?"

There was a slight yawn on the other end. "Uh...yeah, I guess," Lana muttered, unsure of how to tell Martha about what she just discovered. "Can you tell Clark that I have mono, so he should probably watch out..." she explained, her hoarse voice barely strong enough to make out the words. "I'm really sorry."

The realization dawning on her, a quick gasp escaped Martha's mouth.

**To Be Continued…**

**AN: **I know the explaination to Clark's illness may seem weak, but don't worry I'll explain more in the next chapter. Oh, and I'm sorry to all the Clana fans out there, but I think that's going to be it for Lana's appearance in this story. I've never seemed to be able to write her character very well, and I really want to focus on Clark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Martha slowly made her way up the stairs, her mind trying to comprehend what her logic was screaming at her. Lana gave Clark mononucleosis, also known as "the kissing disease". It perfectly explained why Clark felt so tired all of the sudden, yet the only question that lingered was how her son, the most invulnerable man alive, could catch a common virus. Rounding the stairs, she caught Jonathan exiting their son's bedroom. "How is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan felt a thousand pounds heavier since that morning. Nothing was making sense. He felt it was his duty to protect his family from whatever fell their way, yet how could he do that when he didn't even know the cause of the sudden illness. "We were talking, and in second's time he fell asleep," the father the father answered, furrowing his eyebrows.

Once having mono when she was in high school, Martha was quickly familiar with the symptoms. Extreme fatigue, chilliness, fever, sore throat...with endless others usually formed from the chaotic disease. "Well...that's expected," she shrugged, remembering how she used to sleep at least half the day away when the virus attacked her system. Seeing the look of confusion on her husband's face, Martha quickly explained, "That was Lana on the phone. She has mono, and she wanted to warn Clark to watch out."

"Martha..." Jonathan sighed as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "This is Clark we're talking about-"

"I know," Martha interrupted, knowing exactly where her husband was heading. "But the timing is just too perfect. It can't just be coincidence."

"It must be though," Jonathan stated a bit too firmly. Part of him was still hoping that maybe his son wasn't truly sick; that maybe it was just the start of a new power developing. Yet, the hope was quickly dwindling away with the slowly passing seconds. Sighing, Jonathan relented, "Even if it is mono. It shouldn't have erupted so quickly...right?" He'd hate to admit it, but Martha definitely had more knowledge on the disease, since he was lucky enough to have never caught it.

"Yeah..." Martha muttered as she leaned against the wall. "It took a week for me to realize I was sick and not just tired. Plus, I never fainted like Clark did earlier." Martha quickly rubbed her face with her hand. Nothing seemed to piece together. Part of her even hoped it was mono, because at least then she knew it wasn't life threatening.

Jonathan slightly glanced at his watch, knowing noon had already come and gone. "I have to go feed the cows. I'll be back as soon as possible," he stated as he headed for the stairs.

"Okay..." Martha muttered as she glanced at her husband's retreating form. Martha stood for a moment, trying to collect all her jumbled thoughts before entering her son's room. Opening the door, she quietly stepped into the dimly lit room. Her heart slightly broke at the sight of her only son sleeping as the noon sun peered through the closed blinds. The mother slowly walked towards her boy and placed her hand on his heated forehead, wishing she could somehow just take his pain away.

Glancing around the small room, Martha eyed the computer sitting next to the wall and quickly made her way towards it, praying the answer to her thousands of questions could be found through modern technology. She grabbed a discarded notepad and pencil as she waited for the slow dial-up to sign her on. The moment she noticed she was connected she quickly typed 'mononucleosis', praying it was spelled right, and searched through the millions of sites on the web.

An hour later, Jonathan came through the front door, wiping the dirt and bits of food off his hands with an old rag. Before he got three feet within the house, he heard frantic footsteps come down the stairs almost two at a time. "Jonathan, thank God!" Martha exclaimed.

"Martha, what's wrong? Is it Clark?" Jonathan asked as he headed towards the stairs.

The mother quickly shook her head. "No. He woke up for a second but he just fell back asleep. But I think I know what's wrong," she answered as she held the notebook out in front of her. "First of all, mono is a virus, so, unlike the common cold, it attacks your system and can't be cured with antibiotics-"

Jonathan instantly cut her off. "But Clark has never caught a virus before either, even the flu."

Glancing at her husband, Martha stated, "I know. That's because his immune system fights it off before it even affects him. But Mono grows within the lymphocytes, the white blood cells that form part of his immune system. See it's all right here." She pushed the notebook towards him with the sketchy notes she'd been jotting down for the past hour.

Glancing at the notebook, Jonathan ran a hand through his sandy hair. "I don't know. It still doesn't explain why Clark's symptoms are so extreme."

"Clark must have super-charged white blood cells...which is why he can heal so quickly," Martha quickly explained, already thinking everything though. "Think about it. If a disease attacked those blood cells and manipulated them in some way, wouldn't the illness become 'super-charged' too?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows with concern. Her tone of voice instantly took a grave tone, "Jonathan, I'm worried. If I'm right, then anything goes. Mono already has over a dozen symptoms to begin with, and now...considering this...we have no idea what can happen."

Jonathan and Martha's eyes locked for a moment, fear for their son overwhelming them. Their silent conversation was abruptly interrupted by a thud sounding from upstairs. "Clark!" Martha exclaimed as she rushed up the stairs. As she opened the door, she felt her heart drop her stomach. Obviously having fallen from the bed, Clark was clumsily trying to pull himself up using the nightstand.

"Clark," Martha breathed as she rushed towards her child. She grabbed Clark's shoulders, trying to keep him still so she could help him. Not noticing her until then, Clark looked up at her at wide, glassy eyes until a look of recognition washed over his face. Martha bit her bottom lip as she got a better look at Clark. His face was pale, almost translucent, and calmly. There were dark circles surrounding his blood-shot eyes. And even though he was looking right at her, it seemed as though he was staring through her.

Trying to keep her calm, Martha placed the back of her hand on his forehead. She let out a slight gasp at the intensity of the heat radiating off of it. Noticing Clark fidgeting under her grasp, she asked, "Clark, honey, what's wrong?"

His breaths coming in short spurts, Clark glanced away from his mother before whispering, "They're coming..."

"Jonathan," Martha called to the man behind her, "He's delirious!" She whipped her head around towards her husband, looking for some type of answer. Wordlessly, Jonathan rushed to Martha's side.

"No," Clark quickly stated, his eyes glazed over. "They know...they know my secret."

Placing a calm hand against the boy's shoulder, Jonathan stated, "Whatever you saw was a nightmare, Clark."

Adamantly shaking his head, Clark continued, "No, I saw them. I..." he paused for a moment and furrowed his eyebrows, as if he was trying to remember something. "I'm tired..." he muttered under his breath.

"Okay, well let's get you to bed then," Jonathan said as he wrapped his arm around Clark's back for support. He steadily stood up and motioned Clark toward the bed. The boy was almost asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Speechless, Martha tucked the sheets around her son, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

"I'll go get a damp cloth," Jonathan stated as he walked towards the door.

Martha just nodded, praying her son's body was stronger than the virus.

**To Be Continued...**

**AN: **I, in no way, have ANY type of a degree, much less a medical one. Please do not sue me for any misleading information. I can barely feed myslef, much less pay for you ( but my cousin is a Harvard graduate so you would probably lose;) )  
All, information was from http/ www.indiana .edu/ health/ mono.html  
If anything I said was wrong, please tell me so I can fix it. I would rather edit it than sound stupid.


	5. Chapter 5

**Spoilers: **Tailsman.

Once again this takes place at the beginning of the 5th season in between Aqua and Exposed. It's a big deal to make the story make more sense.

**Chapter 5:**

Anxiety swimming in the pit of her stomach, Martha stiffly watched her son from the chair beside his bed, like a gargoyle protecting the church. The only noise that filled the room was the boy's wheezing breaths. It had been five hours since he had awoken, delirious from his fever, and the sun was disappearing behind the Kansas plains. Clark had only awoken once since then, but it was only briefly and his mutterings were so soft Martha could hardly understand them. Now here she was, sitting as still as stone, as she watched her only son slowly fight against the virus attacking his system. She never felt so helpless before in her life. Her son was fighting a potentially fatal battle, and all she could do was stand beside him and watch.

There was no kryptonite to throw away this time. There wasn't even a medication that could help or even lessen the pain for him. If he still had his powers, it meant that he was still immune to all types of earthly pills. He was supposed to be immune to earthly diseases also. Yet, fate had found a way around it, attacking and manipulating the one thing that made him immune to such diseases. Suddenly the door open, startling Martha out of her morbid thoughts.

"How is he?" Jonathan asked, unaware the shock he caused his wife.

Glancing back at her dormant son, Martha answered, "Hasn't changed." She looked at her husband, worry filling her eyes. "He hasn't moved in hours, Jonathan."

"I know..." Jonathan sighed as he handed his wife a cup of coffee. He looked down at his son, slightly frowning at the boy's flushed complexion and harsh breaths. He reached his hand out and placed it on Clark's forehead. "Still has a fever?" he asked Martha, but didn't need an answer, feeling the heat radiating off of the boy's skin.

Martha took a shaky sip of coffee, letting the warmth and caffeine drown her tired system. "It's not the fever I'm worried about..." She paused for a moment and looked at Jonathan's worried expression. "His breaths have been getting louder over the past hour. I worried something may be obstructing his breathing."

"Like what?" Jonathan quickly asked, glancing back at his sick son.

Grabbing the stack of papers she printed off about mononucleosis, she scanned through them to find one symptom that stuck out in her mind. "It says here that mono can cause 'swollen lymph nodes in the neck region'. Earlier when I looked down Clark's throat, it was so red and irritated I've never seen anything like it." She placed the papers back on the nightstand and looked up and her husband her eyes twinkling with tears. "Mono stays in the system for months. He won't be improving any time soon. If anything..."

"He'll get worse," Jonathan finished, saying the words his wife couldn't. "And if this disease is really amplified because of Clark's 'super-powered' cells..." The father immediately stopped, not letting the thought of his son's death enter his mind. Running a shaky hand through his hair, Jonathan leaned forwards before bolting up on his feet. "I'm going for a walk," he stated suddenly, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Jonathan!" Martha called after him.

Never looking back, the man answered, "Don't worry I'll be back. I just need some time to think."

Martha watched in shocked silence as her husband walked out of the room and closed the door, abandoning her with their ill son. Overwhelmed with emotions, she turned her attention back towards her son, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall. She grabbed her son's clammy hand and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "Don't worry about your father, Clark. He's just a bit overwhelmed at the moment. He so used to knowing the answer. This just caught him off guard," she explained more to herself than her unconscious son. Stroking his hand, she encouraged, "Just hold on. I'm sure he'll think of something." The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she smiled anyway. She knew she had to believe them, or else she would fall apart.

A long silence endured as the sun slowly crept behind the fields. Martha silently gazed out the window as the last sliver of sun disappeared, illuminating the room with darkness. Lost in her thoughts, she continued to rub her son's hand gently with her thumb. She never noticed as Clark's eyes flinched, as if trying to block out a bad thought. Suddenly, a slight gasp filled the room, much sharper than the boy's constant wheezes.

"Clark!" Martha exclaimed as jumped off the chair and kneeled by his head. Clark's eyes quickly searched the room as unsuccessfully he tried to calm his breaths. "Clark, honey, look at me," Martha whispered as she gently brushed his hair out of his eyes.

At the sound of the voice, Clark instantly looked beside him, his head to heavy to move. "M...mom?" he wheezed, his voice high with uncertainty.

Martha felt a chill run down her spine at the sight of Clark's terror filled eyes. Her calm voice masking her inner-worry, she asked, "Yeah, honey, it's me." She softly smiled as she continued to softly rub his head.

Relief swarming his face, Clark slightly sighed, before his breathed turned back into harsh wheezes. He glanced back at Martha, returning her smile. "Sorry," he muttered, knowing he caused his mother quite a scare.

"Honey, there's no need to be sorry," she answered as she slowly rose to her feet. "Did you have another nightmare?" she asked. His slight nod confirmed her assumptions. "Here, you should have something to drink," she stated as she grabbed her lukewarm coffee off the nightstand, hoping the warmth would relax his throat. She gently raised her son's head and helped him hold the cup as he slowly drank several gulps. Placing the cup down, the mother asked, "How are feeling...any better?"

Clark took a deep, shaky breath before answering, "Yeah." Martha instantly frowned, knowing her son was lying to her to try and make her feel better. She was about to call him on his bluff when the boy asked barely above a whispered, "Where's Dad?"

Not wanting to worry her son, she answered as calmly as possible, "He just went outside for a second. He'll be back soon." Seeing her son struggling for breath, Martha's heart instantly jumped with concern. "Clark, calm down. Don't talk anymore." Clark instantly nodded, agreeing full-heartedly with his mother. Grabbing her son's hand, Martha coaxed, "Don't worry. It will all be over soon. You just need to hand on." Finally gaining control over his breathing, Clark looked at his mom and gently squeezed her hand. Hearing the harsh wheezes slowly quiet, Martha softly smiled, even though her heart was still pounding. The virus was growing, and she couldn't do anything to save her son.

Jonathan spent the past hour walking around the farm, trying to clear his mind. There was something he could do, he knew it. Yet, with every thought that came into his mind, he quickly discarded it, knowing it would never work. One particular memory kept intruding his thoughts. Two years ago when he found Clark bleeding to death on the kitchen floor kept jumping into his mind. He was sure he had lost his son then. Yet, by the power of Jor-El, he was able to save his son. If only Jor-El's power was still in him. Frustrated with dead ends, Jonathan turned back towards the house.

Back in the chair, Martha watched over her son, tears growing in her eyes. The noise of footsteps drifted through the silent house. Sniffing, she rubbed her eyes, preparing herself for Jonathan's return. At the sound of the door opening, she turned towards him, and opened her mouth, but her words refused to come.

"How is he?" Jonathan asked as he approached the bed.

"I...I..." Martha started, but was unable to finish, her fear and anxiety finally taking a hold of her.

Jonathan immediately rushed to his wife's side as she fell apart. Wrapping his arms around her, he softly asked, "Martha, what's wrong?" trying his best to mask his own masking his own worry.

"C-Clark," Martha managed to get out between her tears. Jonathan instantly glanced at his son, who appeared to be asleep except for the wheezes rattling his chest. Composing herself, Martha grabbed her husband's arms to get his attention. "Jonathan, he's slipping away. I can feel it. Earlier, he almost stopped breathing."

Cupping her face with his hand, Jonathan replied, "Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll figure something out."

"Mom?" a soft rasp sounded throughout the room.

"Clark!" Martha exclaimed as she jumped to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Ffff..." He paused for a moment, trying to inhale enough to speak. "Fff...iiin..."

Martha instantly cut him off. "Shhh...nevermind. Just focus on breathing. Okay, honey?" Clark slightly nodded, his lips slightly parted. His sharp, shallow wheezes filled the room. Martha blinked back tears at the sight of her son struggling for breath. "Just calm down...like last time. Remember?" Clark nodded again, but this time much more sharply.

"Clark," Jonathan stated, shocked at his son's decline since he left. He rushed to the other side of the bed. "Just hang on, son."

"Ddda-" Clark started but was instantly cut off as his irritated neck glands swell a bit more.

Startled by the sudden silence that filled the room, Jonathan's heart dropped to his stomach. Grabbing his son's hand, Jonathan yelled, "Clark! Breathe!" Clark looked at his father, terror in his eyes as he struggled for air.

Tears freely falling down her face, Martha gently massaged Clark's shoulder. "C'mon, baby. Breathe," she whispered, even though her mind was screaming it. Clark glanced at his mother for a brief moment before his eyes rolled in the back of his head. "Jonathan! Do something!"

The father instantly lept into action doing chest compressions on his son. A several endless seconds, he started performing CPR on his son, while Martha felt a weak pulse under his wrist. It seemed like an eternity before the sound of their son's gasps filled the air once more.

"Clark?" Martha said as she brushed his bangs out of his face.

"Mmmm..." he started as his eyes peaked through his heavy lids.

A sigh of relief escaping her, Martha felt a tear of joy slide down her cheek. "Shhhh...don't try to talk anymore." Clark merely nodded, before closing his eyes and focusing on breathing.

Taking a step back from his son, Jonathan looked at his wife, determination set in his face. "That was way too close." Without warning, he sat on the edge of the bed and took Clark in his arms, trying to help the boy stand.

"Jonathan! What on earth are you doing!" Martha yelled, appalled.

"I'm taking him to the caves" was the man's only answer as he lifted the boy to his feet.

"What?" his wife questioned, fearing the man's sanity. Martha ran to Jonathan's side.

Already moving towards the door, Jonathan answered, "It's the only way."

Moving Clark down the stairs was a lot simpler than Jonathan had originally thought. "Jonathan..." she sighed, after hearing his plan as he moved the boy down the steps. "I don't want you doing anything stupid," she stated as she opened the door for him and Clark.

"Don't worry, before you know it will be home," Jonathan answered as he moved the semiconscious boy towards the truck.

"What are you talking about? I'm coming with you." Martha ran in front of the two and sat in the back seat of the truck, leaving the door open for them.

Jonathan took one look at her face and knew there was no way to talk her out of it. He slid Clark into the passenger side and roared the car into motion. "Okay, but I want you to stand outside of the cave. Seeing her mouth open in protest in the rearview mirror, he continued, "If something were to happen inside the cave, I need you outside as backup." The excuse seemed to satisfy the woman for the time being. The headlights their only source of light, the truck sped down the road, one single destination in mind.

Less than a half an hour later, Jonathan dragged an unconscious Clark into the secret chamber of the caves and placed him on top of the rock slate. "Jor-El!" the father screamed at the top of his lungs. Clark had stopped breathing again while they were maneuvering him out of the truck. "Jor-El! I don't have much time! You son's life is in danger!" Jonathan continued to yell throughout the pitch black caves, hoping the mention of Clark would gain the heartless man's attention.

A rush of wind blew around the cave "I know of my son's condition," the ominious voice echoed through out the chamber as a beam of light shone on Jonathan.

"If you know, then why don't you do something about it!" Jonathan screamed, his heart beating a mile per minute. Clark stopped breathing over a minute ago, and he didn't even know of his son's pulse was still there.

"I am not a god" was the man's only answer.

"You healed him once, you can heal him again!" Jonathan demanded, referring to the time when Jeremiah stabbed his son.

"I had an outlet for my powers. You were my vessel."

Becoming increasingly frustrated with the supposed father's lack of concern, Jonathan answered, "Then make me your vessel again!"

Jonathan could almost hear the being scoff at his comment. "You are not the man you once were. You do not have the energy to hold me and heal your son."

The farmer glared up at the beam up light. "Try me," he muttered under his breath.

"This will inevitably cause your death," the voice warned.

"It's worth it." The last word barely left Jonathan's mouth when he felt a great power surge through him. Instantly placing his hands on his son, a bright light filled the room. As soon as the light left, a large gasp echoed throughout the caves. Blinking the spots out of his eyes, Jonathan rushed to his son's side. "Clark? How do you feel?" Jonathan asked for what seemed to be the millionth time that day.

Sitting up on the large rock, Clark placed a hand over his heart. "Better..." he breathed, for the first time in a while he meant it. Glancing around the dark room, he looked back at his father's silhouette. "What happened?"

"We'll talk about it later," the man answered, patting his son on the back. His son was back. He was okay. Feeling his own uneven heartbeat, he knew his life was a small price to pay.

**The End.**

**AN:**Yay! There'll be an epilogue.


	6. Epilogue

**Spoilers: **Exposed and Reckoning! (Please Notice!)

**Epilogue**

Jonathan silently sorted through his medication as an anchor from a local news station droned on about the upcoming elections. 'The upcoming race for a seat at the senate will prove to be an interesting one...' Jonathan glanced up at the television for a brief moment, thinking of his old childhood friend, Jack, before turning his attention to the newest addition to his personal pharmacy. The bright red pill glared back at him, knowing the even it could not stop what fate had in store for him.

Jonathan could feel it...feel himself slip away as each day passed. It had been a week since Clark's almost fatal illness that caused Jonathan his own demise. And while the thought of leaving saddened him, he would do it again in a heartbeat for the safety of his son. He had fulfilled his destiny. He ran the family farm while raising a son to continue the Kent legacy. But he knew his son's destiny would soon out shadow his own. The boy was meant for much larger things than cows and sheep. And, while the thought of it made Jonathan proud, he had to admit he was a bit jealous. Even if it sounded selfish, Jonathan wished that maybe before he left he would be able to achieve something...anything. Something that he could say he was proud of and that would make his family proud of him too.

The mention of his friend's name snapped Jonathan back to reality. 'Reports have confirmed the rumors that Senator Jack Jennings will be running for re-election,' the pretty brunette anchor reported. Jonathan smiled as a picture of his friend appeared on the television. Remembering the years where his friend constantly dragged him out of trouble, one single thought flew through his mind: 'That is a man everyone can be proud of.' Hearing footsteps, Jonathan hastily put away his medication and sat at the kitchen table.

"...Morning," Clark sleepily slurred as he headed towards the refrigerator.

"Good morning, Son," Jonathan replied as he nonchalantly drank a cup of coffee. He silently watched Clark as the boy poured him a glass of orange juice and grabbed a bowl of cereal.

Clark sat down in his usual spot and began munching his cornflakes. Having the odd feeling that he was being watched, Clark looked up, only to be met with his father's calm, blue eyes. Officially freaked out, Clark asked, "Dad...?" his eyebrows raised in question.

Snapping out of his trance, Jonathan blinked a couple times before asking, "What?"

"Is something wrong?" Clark replied, becoming slightly concerned by his father's peculiar behavior.

Slightly chuckling at his son's over-protective side, the father answered, "Nothing...It's just..." he paused for a moment, realizing this may be the last time he would ever have a chance to say all the feelings swarming his mind. He paused for a moment, trying to sum up everything his years and knowledge told him. Tears sparkling in his eyes, Jonathan whispered, "I love you, son."

Oblivious to his father's inner-battle, Clark just smiled and continued eating his breakfast. After a second he looked up again and said, "Love ya too, Dad."

* * *

Thanks so much for reading!


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